Welcome to Hell on Earth
by Mello McQueen
Summary: As Earth falls prey to the relentless invasion of a brutal alien race known as the Chimera, Sam and Dean find themselves alive but alone, two of only a handful of survivors left on the planet - mere remnants of the human race. Dean/Castiel. AU/Crossover.


**Title: **Welcome to Hell on Earth

**Fandom: **Supernatural/Resistance

**Author: **Mello McQueen

**Summary: **As the planet falls prey to the relentless invasion of a brutal alien race known as the Chimera, Sam and Dean find themselves alive but alone, two of only a handful of survivors left on the planet - mere remnants of the human race.

**Characters/Pairings: **Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, mentions of Castiel, Mary, John, and Jess. Heavily implied Dean/Castiel.

**Authoress Notes: **This is a crossover between Supernatural and Resistance. It's more a ficlet than a fic, and thus, short of sounding like a Wikipedia article, I couldn't accurately describe the Resistance world (because there is just, oh so much detail in it) in so short a space, so I apologize in advance because to anyone who is not familiar with the game series, some of the finer points of this story may not make a whole lot of sense.

**Remnant**

_Welcome to Hell on Earth_**  
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Dean shakes Sam awake in the dead of night – by Sam's internal clock it is just past 2 a.m. Frowning, Sam looks at his brother, notes the ridged line of his shoulders, the tension in his back and, more telling than that, the Mark II Bullseye held against his chest. Slowly, Dean lifts a finger to his lips and points up at the ceiling. Sam takes the hint and doesn't make a sound, strains his ears listening for something, anything that is out of place.

It takes a moment but he hears it, the faint hum of a scout drone hovering overhead. Swallowing thickly, he lets out a slow breath and pulls his legs inwards, away from the window, wordlessly takes the proffered Magnum Dean pulls from the inside of his jacket and waits. The humming grows louder and he looks at Dean who mouths: _it's out in the street. _

Nodding, Sam shifts and presses his back firmly against the wall, watches as Dean does the same and waits and prays for himself, for his _brother_. He prays that it will pass them by like that other drone in Kerrville last week and that if it doesn't, if it finds them, then he prays they can somehow make it out of this town alive because he doesn't want to die here.

More than that, though, he doesn't want Dean to die here, not without knowing for certain whether or not Castiel is still alive. Castiel, the only other person Dean has ever loved who wasn't blood. Who wasn't _family _and when Sam isn't praying for their lives, he's praying for Castiel's because it's been weeks since they've seen him.

Weeks since they were separated from one another back in Fort Worth after being spotted by a patrolling Death Squad, a group of fifty Hybrids armed to the teeth with Mark I Bullseyes, not to mention Augurs – and damn does Sam hate those things when they're being used against him especially since, it kind of makes it difficult to hold up and hide inside buildings when you're being hunted by aliens from another dimension of space who happen to have guns that can fire through solid objects.

So, yeah, naturally in situations like these he prays and it isn't that he thinks anyone can hear him (after all, he isn't Castiel whose unwavering faith led him to be considered strange even by citizens of the town they'd found him in – some small backwater place in Mt. Pleasant Pennsylvania run by a bunch of overly religious nut-jobs, according to Dean – which is a bit ironic considering that, as far as Sam is concerned, this is Hell on Earth) but because, at this point, besides his brother the only thing Sam has left are his prayers and, right now, they could use them.

Two weeks. That's how long they've been in this town and as light filters through the window in passing, Sam thinks that it was definitely two weeks too long. The light settles there after a moment and Sam's arms break out in gooseflesh, the sort that has nothing to do with the steadily dropping temperature outside, and everything to do with the intense crippling fear that tightens in his chest.

Despite this, his grip on the gun in his hand is steady and he stands absolutely still, holds his breath and counts silently in his head. Fifteen seconds in and the light draws back, swiveling around, turning away. Sam doesn't relax until the humming sound starts to fade off into the distance as the drone moves on, continuing its relentless search for still living humans.

Humans, _survivors_, people that the Chimera can kill or, worse, people that they can convert.

Sam closes his eyes and exhales slowly, hears Dean do the same next to him and tries to block the thought from his mind because that's a dangerous line of thinking. It leads to thoughts of their mother, of their dad, of _Jess_. Maybe even of Castiel, but Sam would never say this, not to Dean no matter how many times the thought has crossed his mind, recently. He doesn't think he could bear the look of devastation on his brother's face that just the idea of Castiel, his _Cas_, being converted into one of the Chimera – a mindless creature without a will, controlled by the hive mind – would cause.

In fact, Sam knows he couldn't, and he also knows exactly what if feels like to have the person you love most turned into a monster, so slowly he shakes his head to clear his mind and thanks God that they're alive, that Castiel is alive, even though he has no proof (because he has to for Dean's sake), even when he knows that no one is listening. It's comforting somehow to pray, anyway, the same way that Dean's presence is comforting as his brother hazards a peak out the window before drawing back and saying: "we need to get the hell out of here."

Sam nods slowly and doesn't argue with a wise decision, just pulls a knife from his pocket and offers it to Dean, who carefully scratches the name of the next town over into the drywall (just encase Castiel should show up) while Sam goes to fetch their things.

Not fifteen minutes later they're headed out, taking the back-roads and being careful to stay low to the ground, listening for any sign of Chimeran presence. Once or twice, Sam thinks he hears the clunk of footfalls, the strange garbled sound of their alien tongue but it is nothing, just the wind rustling over the barren earth and through the trees and six hours later – as they find themselves on a crumbling road that leads to a hill, at the bottom of which is a busted up sign riddled through with bullet holes that Sam assumes once must have read: _Welcome to __Red Oak_ but now reads _Welcome to **Hell **_– they haven't seen so much as a stray Leaper.

For a moment, Dean pauses to frown at the sign and says: "…hey Sammy, do you think Cas will be here?"

As Sam climbs up the hill, he almost says something reassuring, like: "Maybe, but even if he's not we'll find him, Dean, don't worry." or just, "I hope so." But before he can he's made it to the top and the not-so-deserted town of Red Oak stretches out before him. It's a small town with little houses lining the streets, land and buildings, half destroyed gas stations and a mini-mart which is nothing unusual – these days everything is falling apart – but there is something else there too.

He first notices it clinging to an old, overturned green pickup truck lying in the road. A singular tendril of red vein, like the roots of a tree, snaking its way around the vehicle to disappear into the front of the driver's side window; Sam doesn't have to look inside to know what's there because he's seen it before in a dozen other towns just like this and even if he hadn't a cursory glance around tells him what to expect here, because more tendrils creep along every surface of every building and fence and tree and, now that he's listening for it, he can hear the faint beating sound of a hundred pulsating eggs, growing, incubating, preparing to _hatch_.

On the side of one of the buildings to his right, Sam notes that someone has helpfully spray painted the word: _Infested_ in huge red letters and is about to say something, anything to get Dean's attention and warn him that there is a problem when his brother says: "…hey, Sammy, you-" but stops and Sam knows he's there, standing beside him. Knows he sees it too.

"Son of a bitch…" Sam hears him breathe, voice dropping low to a whisper. Sam doesn't look away from the road in front of them, watchful for any sign of movement as his brother hesitates before adding: "I think we might have been safer where we were."

His words are strangled and soft, choked off at the end and even though he doesn't say it, Sam knows exactly what Dean is thinking. He knows it because Dean is his brother and because he's thinking the same thing.

Thinking, _God, oh God, _p_lease, please don't let Castiel be here. Please, not here… _

He doesn't say this, though, doesn't mention it. Instead, he stays close to Dean as they make their way into the town. "Yeah, maybe…" He says, hears the sound of banging in the distance, and Dean heaves a sigh, switching to his default setting of pretending not to give a damn, pretending like he isn't scared out of his mind for the two of them, for Castiel, and Sam lets him.

He lets him because it is probably the only way they're going to make it through this, and so he listens as Dean grouses: "Man, Sammy…" just as a shrieking howl echoes from somewhere within the depths of the town and Sam watches a pale, slender body heave itself over a fence on their left. "I really freaking _hate _Grims."

Sam thinks that he absolutely could not agree more.


End file.
